


Clasped Together

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ice Skating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 08:10:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two boys on the ice, their hands clasped together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clasped Together

**Author's Note:**

> I know very little about ice skating. I apologize for the many things I probably got wrong.

It ended very dramatically. Two brothers competing for the same shining medal. A routine that became a love letter and a fervent kiss in the shielding dark. 

It started utterly mundanely. At four, Kili believed that his brother was the most amazing boy in the world. A view that he never really did grow out, he will realize during that kiss at the end. Anyway, Kili was four and his brother had just begun taking lessons in figure skating. The hockey coach had recommended it, noting with some chagrin that while Fili had the proper ferocity of a hockey player his little ‘tricks’ and ‘experiments’ weren’t going to get a puck in the goal. 

“Figure skating?” Their uncle had frowned. He had raised them on stories of a hockey dynasty. Three generations of Stanley Cup wins to be defended and reclaimed. 

“Trust me,” the coach hadn’t tried to escape from Thorin’s intense gaze. “He’ll be an okay hockey player, but he’ll be an amazing figure skater.” 

“What about speed skating?” Thorin asked, but the coach was already beckoning over another man. 

“This is Balin. Retired two time silver medalist and whole bunch of other shiny things. You can trust Fili to him.” 

Balin looked solemnly over Fili and then gestured him out onto the ice, 

“Show me how you skate.” 

And Fili hadn’t hesitated. He skated a rough circle and then spun himself dizzily around. 

“He’s a natural,” Balin decreed. “If he’s willing to work hard...well.” 

Thorin nodded once brusquely and that was that. Their mother thought it was all fantastic, especially when she tracked down Balin’s pedigree. 

“We’re incredibly lucky,” she would say at four in the morning as she hustled them out the door. Fili had to practice before school and Kili couldn’t be left home alone. So most mornings they made the pilgrimage to the ice rink. 

It should have been a nightmare to drag a four year old to early morning practices with nothing more to occupy himself then some crayons. Some mornings it even was, but most of the time Kili was rapt. Watching Fili practice held his attention better than Sesame Street. He loved listening to the music Balin would put on, classics mixed with songs that were very nearly familiar. He liked the spins best, how tight and small Fili could make himself until he was a blur. 

“I want to try,” he pouted at the end of every practice. 

“Not today,” his mother would inevitably say. 

“Why not?” Balin asked when he finally overheard this ritual departure. 

“He’s four,” she said blankly. 

“I’m hardly going to make him do a triple axle,” Baline laughed. “But he might as well have some fun with us.” 

“I can’t-” she began. 

“I’m already teaching Fili. It’s not a burden to take on another student.” 

It would be years before Kili understood the depth of that generosity. Training was prohibitively expensive for so many. Some families went broke getting just one child as far as Nationals. His mother could hardly refuse the offer, even if she reassured Kili a dozen times that he didn’t have to do a thing. 

In fact, the first few weeks he really hadn’t done much. Balin put a pair of skates on him and spent much of the lessons drilling Fili while keeping Kili from falling over all the time. Kili didn’t care about his bumps and bruises. He liked the tenuous connection with the ground and the keen glint of the blades. 

That day he hadn’t fallen once, doing small circles around Balin while Fili tried to nail a toe jump. 

“Balin!” One of the rink workers called out over the ice. “There’s a phone call for you.” 

“All right!” Balin switched off the CD player. “You can relax for a bit Fili, if you like. Make sure your brother doesn’t end up in a heap.” 

Fili slid to an easy stop. The silence echoed and Kili stopped too. They eyed each other across the ice as if seeing each other for the first time. 

“Want to play?” Fili asked finally. 

“Yes!” Kili beamed.

“Hold on,” Fili went over the player and fiddled with it, flipping it over to the radio. He flicked through channels until one came through more or less clearly. The song had violins like Fili’s routine music, but it had a different sort of beat. It would be years before Kili put the name ‘Bitter Sweet Symphony’ to the song. Even he could admit it wasn’t exactly Bach, but he loved it anyway. 

Because Fili held out his hands and Kili took them. With the ease of the natural grace that the hockey coach had spotted in him, Fili led Kili around the rink while the song chased them. There was no fancy footwork or jumps or spins. It was just the two of them, small specks on the ice, laughing as if it was the best joke in the world. 

From there on out, Kili lived his life on the ice. He lacked Fili’s razor focus, but he made up for it with an animated passion. They practiced every morning and trained their bodies after school. None of their friends really understood it. It wasn’t like a weekend pick up game or lessons easily picked up and dropped. Children still, they had begun their careers. And it isolated them. 

“No, I can’t,” Fili said into the phone, leaning up against the kitchen door. He was fifteen and broad shouldered. Kili watched tv in the next room, but he heard every word. “Because I have to practice. Yeah, I know its your birthday. I’ll be there for the party. I can’t miss a day. No. No. Look, it’s just who-” 

Silence. Fili sat down beside Kili on the couch. 

“James is pissed at me,” Fili announced, then stole the remote. 

“Hey!” Kili tackled him, grabbing for it back. Fili changed the channel. “I was watching that.” 

“Well, now you’re not,” Fili kept his hand in Kili’s face until Kili licked him. “Gross!” 

“Thief,” Kili snatched the remote back and muted it. “Why’s he mad?” 

“You heard. I’m missing his big birthday breakfast thing.” 

“Oh,” Kili frowned. “But he knows you’ve got practice.” 

“Yeah, but he doesn’t get it. He can miss soccer practice once in a while.” 

“You could miss once and a while,” Kili hazarded. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Fili snatched the remote back. “Simpsons, okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

And because Kili wasn’t an idiot, he didn’t press the point. 

That was the year Fili qualified for the World Juniors. For the first time, the entire Durin family left the country. The night before Fili’s short program, he crossed the no man’s land between their hotel beds in the dead of night. 

“You should get some sleep,” Kili said around a yawn. 

“What if I fail?” Fili asked in the hush of the dark. 

“You can’t fail,” Kili drew the blankets over them both. 

“Sure I can. I could fall or forget something or botch the triple like I’ve been doing in practice.” 

“So what?” 

“What do you mean so what?” 

“I mean, so what? You’re like...the best. Ever. If you mess up this year, you’ll be back next year. Just gotta leave some of the medals for me, okay?” 

“Okay,” Fili laughed and closed his eyes. 

He came in fourth and Kili was so proud that he almost broke Fili’s ribs hugging him. After that, they shared a bed before every major competition. By silent agreement, they never shared this good luck ritual with anyone else. Fili went back to World Juniors the next year and edged his way up to third. 

The first day back to school after Fili’s win, a burly kid in Kili’s grade got in his way in the hall. 

“You gonna be a fag like you’re fairy brother?” The boy snarled. 

If Kili had been a little older, a little wiser, he might have contoured with a clever argument. He might have tried to explain how a sport had nothing to do with your sexuality. He could have told him about the hours that had turned their bodies into sharp blades, fearless in the face of potential pain. He might have said being gay was just fine and his brother could do whatever he want and still be amazing. 

Instead he just beat the shit out of him and got suspended for a week. 

“I’m very disappointed in you,” Thorin told him and then bought him a pile of comic books and ice cream. Adults were weird. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Fili said when he got home. He was holding himself tensed. “You don’t...don’t do it.” 

“Why? He was being a jerk.” 

Fili plucked up Kili’s hand and showed him the bloody scrapes there as if Kili hadn’t noticed them. 

“So?” 

“So this is the only body you get,” Fili growled. “You got lucky this time, but what about the next one? What if they break a wrist? Break a goddamn ankle?” 

“I’m not going to break my ankle,” Kili snorted. “You’re being dumb.” 

“I’m being real,” Fili snapped. “You want to do this with me or not?” 

The question stung. Just the asking of it, the pulling at the core of everything Kili was building his identity around. He hadn’t thought about his skating as something he did with Fili, not really. They weren’t a pair. They had their own routines, separate coaching sessions. Different styles. In the penultimate moment, they performed alone. 

Yet...Fili was right. From the first offer of Fili’s outstretched hands, they’d been in this together.

“Yeah,” Kili said and his voice was raw with something he couldn’t name. 

“No more fighting.” 

“No more fighting.” Kili agreed. 

Kili learned to level bullies with a creepy stare and an unhinged laugh. In high school, he made allies of a few members of the football team when he joined them in the weight room and leg pressed more weight than two of them combined. 

When Fili turned 17, he went to Worlds. He came away in tenth which was still goddamn amazing, but left him twice as driven to do better. To be the best. 

“Vancouver,” he would whisper to himself over and over like a prayer while they practiced. 

“You’re going to make yourself sick,” Kili would warn and then wished he hadn't been right as Fili spent a week down with the flu. His next two competitions didn't go well. 

Fili didn’t make the team. 

“What’s the point?” He sat outside the rink two days after the news came down, eyes red rimmed. “What the fuck are we doing?” 

“Dreaming, probably,” Kili sat beside him, close on the bench. “Your short program was amazing.” 

“But my long...who am I kidding? I should just...go to college like a normal person.” 

“No!” Kili grabbed Fili’s arm. “Don’t you dare give up now. I haven’t even ranked in Nationals and you don’t see me crying, do you?” 

“You’re just young. You’re going to make them all stare one of these days,” Fili said dismissively. “It’s different for me. I don’t have that...spark. You just have it. I don’t. I’m a mechanic. Drilled.” 

“You’re an asshole is what you are,” Kili’s grip tightened. “There’s no one like you on the ice, Fili. No one.” 

“God, you really believe that don’t you?” 

“Yes,” Kili stared at him. “Because it’s true.” 

“Kili,” his brother shook him off just to drag him into a lopsided hug. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“So’s your face,” Kili grumbled into Fili’s jacket. The angle was awkward, but he didn’t want to move. 

Fili went to college the next year. He didn’t go far though. Every weekend he was back to practice on their old rink with Balin though he had another coach closer to school. For the first time, Kili warmed up alone and skated by himself regularly. It was alarmingly lonely. 

“It’s better for you,” Balin kept telling him. “Keeps your head clear and your attention where it belongs.” 

Kili wanted to deny it, but the changes were obvious. He stopped copying Fili’s more controlled style and let himself experiment. With no one else to to keep pace with, he took turns faster and jumped without reservation. He threw himself forward and into more ambitious routines. 

Now it was Fili who sometimes paused during their weekend sessions to observe. 

“Getting lazy?” Kili called as he flew by backward. 

“You wish!” Fili laughed and sped out after him, starting an impromptu game of chase. 

Kili didn’t qualify for World Juniors that year. He made it into Worlds instead. 

“Can’t be bothered with the kiddie pool, huh?” Fili laughed over the phone when he heard. He hadn’t qualified and it had taken Kili hours to get up the guts to call and tell him. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Why?” Fili turned somber in an instant. 

“We should be in it together.” 

“We are. Might be you on the ice, but we’re both there as long as you are. Team Durin!” 

“Team Durin,” Kili chorused and grinned at his feet. 

Kili didn’t make a huge splash at Worlds, but he didn’t care. Just being there was an affirmation of what he’d been working for. It had been the right motivation at the right time. The only dark spot was Fili’s glaring absence. Only their mother had made it this time, money too tight for unnecessary flights. When Kili called him that night, the time difference caught Fili mostly asleep. 

“Hey,” Fili answered, hoarse and quiet. 

“Hi,” Kili turned off the light in his room and curved himself around the phone. “Eleventh. I botched a jump. I hate my short program.” 

“How was long?” 

“Oh...” Kili lay down. It was almost like they were sharing the bed again. “You know.” 

“Perfect. I saw that shit eating grin.” 

“You watched? How?” 

“I have my ways,” Fili laughed. “Next year, I’ll see it live. Promise.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t promise that.” 

“I’ve got a new long program in mind and I’ll bet we can fix your short one. Between the two of us, they all better just get out of our damn way.” 

There was a break first. A literal one. Kili cracked his ankle on his first practice after Worlds. It wasn’t a game ending injury, but it meant a month off the ice and another two months doing intensive physio to get back where he needed to be. Three months when he didn’t see his brother at all. Without Kili to train with, Fili stuck to his campus. He called, but it wasn’t the same. 

“I wish he’d visit,” he complained to their mother just the once. 

“You two need to live your own lives,” she’d chided. 

Back on the ice, Kili felt new all over again. He had to warm back up slowly. Balin drilled him carefully, building his strength and dexterity up. It was a full five months before he felt confident running through his old routines. The triple came back last and when he finally stuck a landing without a twinge of pain, he nearly cried. 

Fili didn’t come back. 

Balin gave Kili a brand new routine, harder and full of new jumps. He barely ranked in local competitions as he got back up to snuff, let alone dream about Worlds. He couldn't afford to go anyway. That year it was Fili who went alone and came back with a gold medal. 

“Let me see it!” Kili demanded as soon as Fili was free of baggage claim. 

“Are you nineteen or nine?” Fili laughed. It was the first time Kili had seen him in six months and the changes were nearly more than he could bare. There was stubble on Fili’s cheeks, a leanness to his neck and jaw that suggested a new maturity. 

“Dunno,” Kili stared. “You look different.” 

“This is what a winner looks like,” Fili tugged something out of his pocket and set it in Kili’s hands. “It’s for you anyway.” 

Kili stared down at the gold sheen, “Fi...” 

“You can get me the next one.” 

“Yeah, right,” Kili tucked the medal away, safe in his inner jacket pocket. “I’ll just sweep Worlds along with the Grand Prix and go to the Olympics. No problem.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Sochi.” 

They drove to the rink straight from the airport. It had been nearly a year since they’d skated together and Kili wasn’t planning on waiting a second longer. It was empty and quiet in the lull of the early afternoon. 

“I’m jet lagged,” Fili complained even as he laced up. 

“Good. This’ll wake you up.” 

“Slave driver.” 

They did a few laps to warm up and Fili stayed almost dangerously close, a flirtation of blades. Kili overflowed with the joy of it, watching Fili’s easy form, hands tucked casually at the small of his back and lips betraying a smile. They improvised, lazy spins and turns around each other, the kind of thing that Balin would’ve called them both to task for. 

“Want to play?” Kili teased, holding out his hands. 

“What?” Fili glanced up, confused. 

“Oh, nothing. Being stupid,” Kili spun away, suckerpunched. 

Their lives dissolved into a series of competitions. Fili went back to training at school and stopped coming home on the weekends. 

“I think it’s better if we train apart,” Fili told him late one night, a thready voice stretched to far away. 

“Just once and a while,” Kili pleaded, the phone hot against his ear. 

“No, Kili. It’s better this way.” 

“Fine. But you’ll share a room with me at Nationals, right?” 

Silence on the other end of the line and Kili clung to the phone so hard it left livid red lines in his palms. 

“You should get to know the others better,” Fili said at last. “It can’t hurt for you to have more friends.” 

“I have friends! Fili, come on. This is-” 

But he was talking to dead air. 

The next day at practice, he put all of his confusion and sorrow into his usually lackluster short program. It was to a peppy number like most shorts, but he couldn’t summon up any pep. 

“That’s it!” Balin clapped on the sidelines. “That’s how we improve your short program, my boy! You need something a little sweeter.” 

“I’m not sweet.” 

“Well, no,” Balin started going through a massive pile of CDs. “But you show that off in the long program just fine. Maybe for you the short is where you go a little lighter.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” 

“We’re just using what works.” 

It did work. Kili’s loneliness fueled him through a grueling year. He shot up in the rankings, sending a disturbance through the tight knit world of skating. He started placing in the top three as a regular thing though he never quite hit gold. 

No. All of those went to Fili. ‘The Rise of the Durins’ cropped up on a few blogs and then exploded through the community. Even mainstream media started to take notice, a few fluff pieces here and there to round out the Sports section. All the years of work had finally begun to pay off and Kili couldn’t have been more unhappy. 

He never saw his brother anymore. At competitions where they were bound to run into each other, Fili would talk to him like he was just another skater: friendly and brusque. Whenever Kili tried for something more, even if it was just mentioning their mother, Fili found a reason to be gone. It was like death by a thousand papercuts. 

Yet their night time phone calls only increased. Fili would call him, only when they were both sure to be in bed. They didn’t talk about skating or the strange separation between them in daylight hours. Kili tried the first few times, but the conversation would end abruptly and he needed that last fragile thread too much to risk it. Instead, they wandered through movies, faded memories and incidental things. Fili described a store he found filled with bizarre antiques and Kili told a joke he’d heard in passing. 

“What do you want to do after?” Fili asked deep into November. 

“After what?” 

“After we’re done with it. All of it.” 

“I...I never thought much about it, I guess.” 

“It’s all I can think about sometimes,” Fili’s sigh seeped over the line. “Maybe we could coach or something.” 

“Maybe.” All Kili could hear was the ‘we’ and it tumbled over and over, never quite righting itself into something that made sense. 

Christmas was excruciating. The Olympic team would be announced in two weeks and though their names had been bandied around, there were no guarantees. There just two spots for Men’s Singles. Given Fili’s records, he was practically a shoe in. Fili danced around the perimeters of the holiday, tightly wound up, but never close enough for Kili to try to relax him. 

When the rest of the house had gone to bed, Fili slipped into Kili’s room and kneeled beside his bed. 

“It’s late,” Kili protested roughly, turning to face him. 

“I know. I just wanted...” Fili didn’t say another word. 

There were six inches of open air between them, but it might as well have been a mile. 

“Wanted what?” Kili prompted. 

“Just this,” Fili watched him closely. “Just this.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“I know,” Fili smoothed a hand over Kili’s arm and then stood with a crack in one knee. 

“You’re okay?” 

“Just stiff,” Fili assured him and then he was gone. 

“What the ever loving fuck?” Kili demanded of the empty space left behind. 

The calls came in the afternoon. A chipper voice, a familiar name and the offer that Kili had waited his whole life to hear. 

“You’re on the Olympic team if you want the spot, Mr. Durin.” 

“What about my brother?” He asked, then winced. That was probably not the hoped for reaction. 

“You’re both going.” 

Only then did Kili let joy take him. He whooped loud enough to get the whole house up and around him. The person on the phone kept rattling off details, but none of it got through the fog of sheer exhilaration. One way or another, apart or together, they’d done it. They were going to the Olympics. 

The next six weeks were a blur of preparations and insane practices and meeting more people than he’d ever be able to remember. He received his uniform with it’s tacky sweater and white pants that he was probably doomed to stain. They roomed him with a ski jumper, a Swedish man with high cheekbones and fine pointed nose. 

“Legolas,” the man thrust out his hand and Kili shook it out of sheer defense.

“Um, Kili. Nice to meet you?” 

“I am going now,” and he was gone. A woman wandered out of their bathroom, red hair wet down her back. 

“Did he leave me here to avoid you?” She frowned when Kili shrugged helplessly. “I’m Tauriel. Ski jumping.” 

“Kili. Figure skating.” 

“Yes!” She snapped her fingers. “I knew I had seen you. You and your brother. The Amazing Brothers Duran?” 

“Durins,” he suppressed a smile. “but something like that.” 

“We should get a drink,” she decided. “As soon as we find my underwear.” 

They did get a drink and Kili warmed to her immediately. It was good to have an ally as the competition grew more real. After the third day, she kicked Legolas out of the room and took over as Kili’s roommate. Legolas didn’t seem to put out. Rumor had it he’d taken up with the burly captain of the Canadian curling team. 

“Where is this brother of yours anyway?” She asked. 

“Good question,” he shrugged. “I guess hiding from his competition.” 

It was a sort of fucked up magic trick the way Fili managed to avoid him. They should have had practice together at the very least, but the times were always flip flopped so Kili was sharing the ice with other competitors. Media would have thrown them together too, but Fili was always just on the other side of the arena or talking to another gaggle of reporters. 

“What do you think about competing with your brother?” They asked Kili again and again. 

“I’m excited,” he gave them his best smile, easy and relaxed. A facsimile of quiet joy. “We’ve both worked hard to get here and he’s the only person I’d ever accept losing to.” 

The whirlwind had to end sometime. The wave of frenetic activity finally washed Kili ashore on the night before the final competition. He lay awake in bed, playing out his short program in his head, over and over. The door cracked open and he waited for Tauriel to climb into her bed. Instead, his own mattress depressed down. 

“Your friend let me in,” Fili didn’t ask permission, just drew back the blankets as if he had every right to be here. 

“She shouldn’t have,” Kili scooted over to make space. “We haven’t done this in a long time.” 

“If not now, when?” 

“You’re the one that-” Kili bit back his words. “No. You’re not getting into my head like that. Not tonight.” 

“I’m not playing mind games with you,” Fili pulled the covers back up, smothering them in shared heat. “I just...I couldn’t stay away. I should’ve. But I just...I can’t sleep.” 

“Me either,” Kili sighed. “Fine. You can stay, but I want an explanation.” 

“After tomorrow, you shouldn’t need one,” Fili whispered and then closed his eyes, breathing evening out immediately. Kili would’ve been furious, but Fili’s proximity worked it’s old magic and he was lulled into a deep sleep. 

When he woke, Fili was already gone. Tauriel greeted the alarm with a groan and rolled further into her blankets. The last of her trials was in the afternoon. She could afford to shut out the world a little longer. Kili gathered his things together and went out into the bright white of day. 

The rink was half-full of spectators already. Kili stretched carefully and warmed up while he had a chance. It was Women’s short program first and he probably wasn’t paying enough attention. He was friendly with some of them and they’d want feedback later. It was too much to expect him to be on point though. 

“You’ll be fine,” Balin took his place beside Kili, survying the rink with satisfaction. “You have never failed to surprise me, lad. I never imagined being here with you.” 

“You wanted to be with Fili, right?” 

“Wanted?” Balin shrugged. “He’s technically one of the best skaters I’ve ever seen. I always assumed that if he didn’t fall apart with the pressure that he’d wind up here. But you...I was never sure what you’d become. I cannot tell you how proud I am at what you’ve done.” 

“Oh,” Kili rubbed the back of his neck, rubbing at a non-existent kink. 

“You’re third. Go finish your warm ups in the back. Doesn’t help you any to watch the others.” 

He heard Fili’s name called just as he hit the back halls. Had Balin done that on purpose? Why? It had never hurt Kili’s performance any to just see Fili skate. Had it? He had to shove the paranoia down and concentrate on readying himself. 

By the time he hit the ice, Fili was far from his mind. All he could focus on was where his body had to be in space. He executed jumps and spins, pouring into each movement an entire year’s worth of frustration and confusion. When he went into his final spin, he was only half-paying attention to the muffled declarations of the speaker. 

“Come here,” Balin tugged him into a brief hug as he came off the ice. “Well done.” 

Kili diligently watched the rest of his competitors. They were all amazing, gut-wrenchingly good, but all Kili had eyes for was the scoreboard afterward. By lunch, he was sitting at fourth and Fili at third. 

“Protein and rest!” Balin prescribed and shooed Kili out of the arena. “I’ll see you back here at four.” 

Kili ventured back to his room where Tauriel had apparently left in a whirlwind of clothes and frantic energy. There was a note folded on his pillow. He picked it up with a frown, 

_I’m on just after you tonight. Watch me. It’s for you._

“Cryptic bastard,” Kili balled up the paper and shoved it into his pocket. His fingertips lingered on it all through the afternoon. 

The reporters caught up with him at three, bristling with microphones. 

“How does it feel to be neck and neck with your brother?” “Is it difficult competing with your brother?” “Is it tough knowing your brother is your main competitor?” They chorused one on top of the other. 

“He’s the only person I’d ever want to lose to,” he repeated. 

“But what if you win?” One of them thrust the microphone in his face. 

“Then I guess I’ll get gloating rights!” Smile for the camera, keep smiling and back away. Wave and laugh. Keep it bright. 

As soon as he could escape, his smile fell away. His long program might be his better event, but he couldn’t afford to get to lose focus. The atmosphere was different from the morning, the tension ratcheted up impossibly higher. Balin didn’t say much, just handed him a bottle of water and leaned down to check his ankles. 

When the first notes of his music started, he internalized it. He loved the quick starting beat and he was off like a shot. No false smiles for this, no put upon joy. This was what he loved. The boundless energy that came to him in these moments. This was what he had stayed with it for, for the handful of glorious moments when there was no practice left. Just him and the music and the eyes following him. This routine toed the line of cheeky, a lot of near ice dancing flourishes sneaking in. 

He finished with his arms flung wide and his cheeks aching from smiling. This time he heard the applause and the great blistering whistle that could only belong to Thorin. Sheer adrenaline carried him back to the bench and he more collapsed then sat down. Balin clasped his shoulder and they waited for the boom of the numbers. 

Or Balin waited. Kili missed them entirely on the first go around as Fili sailed out onto the ice for his warm up lap. Fili’s costumes had always veered to the nearly bland, sticking to whites and soft blues with a minimum of sparkle. This one was a wicked clinging black with a blue fire of rhinestones rising from the waist over the shoulders and v-neck that cut down deep. 

Kili couldn’t help, but recognize it. It was one of his own designs, never used, but often sighed over. He’d even considered it for this very program and only at the last moment decided against it in favor of a dark green and silver outfit. Fili had used his design and looked utterly spectacular in it. Almost as if it had been designed for him. 

Fili relaxed into his opening position. It was simple, upright and two hands stretched outward in a silent beseeching gesture. A violin began to play and Kili froze. The beat kicked in and off Fili went. There were no words, but Kili would recognize that music no matter how it was changed. Bitter Sweet Symphony. 

Usually Fili’s long program was almost dull to watch. It lacked the speed that made his short programs so captivating and while it showed off his perfectionism, it revealed a certain lack of charisma. Somehow in the two months since Kili had last seen Fili skate, he’d changed his entire style. It was fuller, flowing better and there were certain movements that were so familiar. 

“Son of a bitch,” he gasped. “It’s me. He’s doing me!” 

“You noticed that?” Balin grinned. “It’s not quite actually. Bit of a blend.” 

It was still all Fili at the jumps and spins that was for sure. He had a tidiness that Kili had never captured, but everything in between was a softer version of Kili’s frenetic signatures. At the last fading notes, Fili went into a spin so tight and crisp that it’s abrupt end stopped the audience’s breath. Somehow, Fili had managed to end at just the right angle to face Kili. His hands came down and he held them out. 

It took every fiber of Kili’s willpower not to charge the ice. He saw it all unfolding in technicolor: the withdrawal and the late night phone calls, the visit to his bedside at Christmas and last night. That was all just prologue, a necessary pause between childhood and adulthood. Kili was twenty now, an Olympian in his own right. He knew his mind and his craft. 

He could say yes to the question that Fili had used possibly his only chance at Olympic gold to ask. 

Fili skated leisurely up to the gate that separated him from Kili as if impervious to what he'd just done. His cheeks were flushed pink and his breath came hard. He held out his hands again and Kili proudly took them. Together, they turned to the scoreboard. 

Their faces flashed up. First one. Then the other. 

“The gold,” Fili pulled Kili forward, held him bruisingly hard. “You won it.” 

“For you,” Kili clung to him, tears rolling down his cheeks and he didn’t give a damn that he could see the flashes of a thousand cameras. “I won it for you.” 

They were torn apart almost immediately. Swept away to clean themselves up and then to face the hoard of microphones. Along the way, there’s a brief gasp of air to hug his mother and Uncle. He was congratulated in a dozen languages and his teammates poured in from other events to slap him on the back. 

He wanted them all to disappear. There was only one person to celebrate this with. 

Fili caught up with him as they were swept up to the podium, their national anthem played across their smilling faces. When Kili was pulled immediately off for an interview, Fili was besides him. The reporters were delighted with the opportunity. 

“How does it feel to lose to your little brother?” One smart ass asked. 

“It isn’t a loss,” Fili put his arm over Kili’s shoulders. “We’re a team.” 

There was a dinner to attend after that, but Fili was apparently done with waiting. On the way from one spot to the next, he flung open a door that should definitely have been locked and drew Kili alongside him. It was a dark cramped space, but that had never bothered them before.

“That was amazing,” Kili reached for him, half-afraid that Fili would shy away. 

“I’m sorry I had to...it just. I needed to know that it wasn’t just how we were. That we could be okay apart.” 

“We’re fantastic apart,” Kili ran his hands up under Fili’s ugly sweater, felt the strength that they had built together in the lean muscles of his back. “But we’re going to be so much better together.” 

It was a fumbling first kiss, too dark for them to find each other, but they made do. They would always make do: In Korea in 2018, when Fili finally got his own gold and Kili cheered from the sidelines with his knee still stitched together; in Sweden 2022, when Kili had his bittersweet farewell that got him a bronze; in their own home, in 2026 when they watched the games from their couch and roughly critiqued the judging over too much beer. 

They had started together on the ice, two boys bound together by blood and drive. Some part of them would always have that, hands clasped together in innocent trust.


End file.
